Snow Bridge
by ScapeArtist
Summary: Emma is called away while she and Killian are babysitting for her parents. Snow returns early from her night out and she and Killian commiserate over a common circumstance in their past that changed both their lives.


**A/N: I was feeling the urge to write a little more of Snow and Hook bonding a bit over something they have in common. This is what happened. Please see the additional note at the bottom for something I don't want to spoil here. Thanks for reading! **

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><p>"I thought for sure Neal was going to be up all night," Emma groused as she sat heavily next to Killian, tipping her head back over the edge of the couch with a sigh. "It's like they sugared him up just in time for us to watch him," she continued, rubbing her face with both hands and yawning.<p>

"I wouldn't put it past your father, darling," Killian replied, open book in hand, sparing Emma a quick glance as he turned the page. They'd offered their services to watch Emma's baby brother so her parents could celebrate their anniversary with a night out for dinner. Sheriff Swan was still on call, so she brought Killian along in case something came up and she had to leave. Other than the baby being very much awake and interested in every move his sister and Killian made, the night had been without incident.

Emma scooted away from Killian so she could lay down, her head on his thigh, and her legs dangling over the arm of the couch. She reached over, plucked the book out of his hand, and set it down on the floor as she looked at him, upside down, with a rather silly grin. Perhaps she had shared whatever sugary treat she accused her parents of giving her brother. Killian huffed, and leaned over to pick up the book again but Emma stopped him with her hand to his chest before he could squash her head with his body on the way down.

"I was going to take advantage of the quiet, love. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've read a book for pleasure?" he asked, thoroughly put out.

"Well, if it's pleasurable activities you are looking for, Captain, I _am_ here on my back," she suggested with a wink.

He smiled, tight-lipped with narrowed eyes, and shifted just enough so Emma's head fell onto the couch cushion with a muffled thud.

"Not in your parents' home. I haven't a death wish," he said, retrieving the book and rifling through the pages to find where he'd left off.

Emma sat up, bit her bottom lip, and let her hair fall over her shoulder in a most fetching manner. She raised her eyebrows in question to his rejection as she pushed the book back down on his lap, forcing him to look at her, and it was all Killian could do not to wrap his hand in her mane and pull her to him for a kiss that might possibly end with him being exiled. Or worse. He looked away from her and shook his head, exhaling a long breath.

"Oh, come on, Killian," she practically purred, inching closer. "My brother's asleep, my parents won't be back for a while yet...it'll be...exciting...and _dangerous_," Emma whispered in his ear while she traced her finger along the "v" of his shirt opening. He felt every nerve in his body light up at her touch and he cursed himself for being a stickler for good form in this case. Killian closed his book again and plucked her hand from its current occupation: unbuttoning his shirt. He kissed her knuckles, then held her hand firmly against the seat of the couch, not allowing her to continue.

"While it would please me greatly to taunt your father with even the inkling that we may have...had our way with each other where he eats his dinner each night," he started, with a wry look, "you mother, love, is another story entirely. I already tread lightly around her and I will not give her yet another reason to find my presence...unpalatable," he admitted.

Emma sat back, tucked her hair behind her ears, and tilted her head. "'Unpalatable?' That's a bit dramatic don't you think?"

Killian shrugged. "Perhaps, but I don't care to have to make another special trip to the past to show her my intentions are pure when it comes to her daughter. She's thought me a liar and untrustworthy more often than not since we met, and no matter how...tempting...you are — and don't mistake, you are tempting — I won't cock this up. No pun intended," he added.

Emma snorted. "Right." She was leaning back to relax against Killian's side when her phone vibrated in her pocket. "Shit!" she swore, digging around to pull it out. "We need to hire some more deputies. I hate being on call," she complained. The conversation with whomever was on the other end didn't last long, but was full of eye-rolling and sighing on Emma's end. She wrapped it up with the promise that she was on her way.

"Looks like you'll get your way regardless. There's a ruckus down at the Rabbit Hole...surprise, surprise on dollar pitcher night," she mumbled. "You good here with Neal until I get back?" she asked.

"I'm sure I can manage a sleeping baby, love. Go so you can return," he said. She leaned over and gave him a swift kiss and headed for the door, tugging on her boots and coat along the way. "Be careful," he called out quietly just before she waved and shut the door behind her.

Killian lay down on the couch and resumed reading the book he'd found on the end table. He'd been picking at it, paragraph by paragraph, every time they were at David and Mary Margaret's for more than a brief stop, and while it wasn't a high-seas adventure, Killian found _The Lord of the Rings_ an interesting tale of good versus evil. He suspected David admired that Aragorn fellow if he knew his friend at all, and if it were Snow reading, well, she probably liked the noble Aragorn as well, or perhaps the elf archer, Legolas. He'd just gotten immersed in the story when Neal began making noises now and again. Emma had left some device she called the "baby monitor" downstairs that allowed them to hear him without being in the same room, so he waited a few minutes listening to the boy fuss and whine until he was full out wailing.

No longer able to ignore the boy's distress or assume he could get back to sleep on his own, Killian put the book back on the side table and climbed the steps to the bedroom the prince shared with his parents. Even in the dim light, Killian could see the lad had worked himself into a shade of deep pink with large tears rolling from his eyes and down his cheeks. Knowing how difficult it had been for Emma to get Neal back to sleep, he wanted to cause as little disturbance as possible, so Killian rested his hand lightly over the boy's chest and spoke softly.

"Ahoy, there, your Highness. What's got you all up in arms, eh? Dreaming of crocodiles?" he asked, leaning over so he could rest his chin on his forearm, which was draped along the edge of the crib. Neal opened his eyes, still crying and looked in Killian's direction, his lip quivering. Killian smiled warmly and patted the boy with his fingers. He noticed right away something was definitely missing from when Emma had taken him upstairs earlier. "Oh, lost your pacifier have you? Let's see if I can't find that elusive little bugger," he said and felt around until he located it, wedged under Neal's shoulder. He popped it back into the boy's mouth, and Neal began sucking on it immediately, but Killian was troubled at how alert the child was. It would not do if Mary Margaret and David came back to a wide awake baby.

As they regarded each other in the quiet room, the sound of the baby's suckling on his pacifier counter-pacing the ticking of the clock hanging on the bedroom wall, Killian became lost in thought. Lifetimes had passed since he was that young, or even around something so innocent and vulnerable. His heart had crusted over with the scabs of old wounds like barnacles on a ship's hull, and he'd forgotten he'd ever been a child who knew joy or love or happiness, like this child would. The memories he had of himself as a boy, playing by the shore with his mum trailing behind as they waited for his father to come back from sea, had been masked and hidden by the pit of despair that was Neverland and his vengeance.

Killian reached down and lightly placed his hand on the lad's torso again, hoping the warmth of it through his night clothes would calm him enough to fall asleep, but the Prince held his thumb and ring finger in his little grip, as his restless legs kicked and coiled and kicked again, over and over. As Killian waited out the active baby, he recalled a tune from the far reaches of his past, and began humming pieces of it here and there as Neal quieted to listen to the new sound. The longer he hummed, the more long-forgotten words he was able to pull forth to go with the melody, and, before he knew it, he was softly singing an old lullaby his own mother used to sing him to sleep with to keep his nightmares at bay.

_On the wings of the wind o'er the dark rolling deep_  
><em>Angels are coming to watch o'er thy sleep<em>  
><em>Angels are coming to watch over thee<em>  
><em>So list to the wind coming over the sea.<em>

_Hear the wind blow love, hear the wind blow_  
><em>Lean your head over and hear the wind blow<em>  
><em>Hear the wind blow love, hear the wind blow<em>  
><em>Hang your head over and hear the wind blow.<em>

_Oh, winds of the night, may your fury be crossed_  
><em>May no one who's dear to our island be lost<em>  
><em>Blow the winds gently, calm be the foam<em>  
><em>Shine the light brightly and guide them back home.<em>

_The currachs are sailing way out on the blue_  
><em>Laden with herring of silvery hue<em>  
><em>Silver the herring and silver the sea<em>  
><em>And soon there'll be silver for baby and me.<em>

_The currachs tomorrow will stand on the shore_  
><em>And daddy goes sailing, sailing no more<em>  
><em>The nets will be drying, the nets heaven blessed<em>  
><em>And safe in my arms dear, contented he'll rest.<em>

By the time Killian finished singing the lullaby, Neal had completely relaxed—his hands now resting up by his head, his legs still—and his breathing evened out as his eyelids drooped then finally closed. Killian waited a few more moments to make sure he was sound asleep before inching his own hand away and leaving the room as silently as possible. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Mary Margaret was sitting at a stool at the kitchen island to his left, the listening device in her hands and tears in her eyes.

She smiled at him even has he looked away, the color rushing to his cheeks, and his desire to leave growing with each slow-moving second. He'd never meant for anyone but the baby to hear him sing, and the echo of the rough sound of his voice in his ears came back to him and he cringed.

"That was beautiful," Mary Margaret said in a hushed voice.

Killian could only smile tightly and nod his thanks, his self-consciousness at being heard singing overshadowing Mary Margaret's compliment. He rushed to change the subject. "Where's David?" he asked looking around the apartment, but, for the first time, thankful not to see the man anywhere. Killian did not need to provide the elder Prince any ammunition to beleaguer him with later.

"He just dropped me off." Mary Margaret hopped down from the stool and put the now silent monitor on the counter. "Emma needed his help. Seems the Merry Men recognized some of the Black Guards at the Rabbit Hole and a fight broke out for old time's sake. Emma was able to get them to stop brawling, but she needed David to help her book them all," she explained. She walked around the island to the stove and lifted the tea kettle. "Tea?"

At the word "brawling," Killian's hackles raised and his eyebrows pinched. "Is she alright? Maybe I should go to the station," he said, about to head toward the door.

Mary Margaret interrupted his movement with a shake of her head. "She's fine. She promised they wouldn't be long and asked that you wait here for her. Sit down," she said and gestured to the stool she'd just vacated.

Killian obeyed and had a seat while Mary Margaret pulled out what she needed to make them each a cuppa. Since he and Emma went back in time, things between he and Mary Margaret had been less awkward than previously (although he did still love to tease David about damn near anything he thought would get a reaction from the man, and his wife was always a sure bet), but there were still more moments than he cared to acknowledge that he just did not know what to say to Snow White. For her part, Mary Margaret brushed his digs off with a roll of her eyes but Emma had admitted to him how often her mother had encouraged her to be with Baelfire before his death. It didn't matter how many times Emma assured him that it didn't matter what Snow thought — that he was the only one she wanted to be with no matter who her mother had pushed her towards — Killian wondered if he would ever measure up to Snow's idea of what true love should be for her daughter.

Sliding the mug and teabag across to Killian, Mary Margaret leaned against the counter and considered him a moment before speaking. He couldn't help but squirm a bit under her scrutiny.

"That song you were singing to the baby...is that a sea chanty?" she asked.

Killian huffed through his nose and shook his head. "No, my crew never needed help getting to sleep after a day's work on the ship. That, was a lullaby from my childhood," he said.

"I'm surprised you can remember that far back," she teased.

He laughed with her, "That makes two of us, milady."

"Did your mother sing it to you?" she asked.

Killian nodded almost imperceptibly as he struggled to bring up the memories surrounding the lullaby. "I think so," he said. "She died when I was but a handful of years older than your boy. My memories of her are hazy at best."

Mary Margaret tilted her head — definitely a family trait — and frowned. "I lost my mother when I was young, too," she said.

"Cora," he guessed and Mary Margaret nodded sadly.

"Do you ever miss her? Your mother?" she asked. The water had finished heating and Mary Margaret poured some for them both.

Killian pulled the mug closer, the steam rising and tickling his nose. He had to give her question some thought. His Mum was his first loss, and it absolutely shaped the rest of his life and the lives of his father and brother. But even by the time his father had disappeared into the night, leaving him to fend for himself until Liam found him, his memories of his mother were unreliable. Three hundred plus years later, he was unsure what was real and what might be wishful thinking.

He sunk the tea bag into the water, watched it darken in swirling clouds, and shrugged a shoulder. "I suppose I do in a general way—the way you miss anyone who has loved you and died. I definitely missed her at the time and for a while more. But life got...complicated not long after and other things occupied my mind."

Mary Margaret blew into her mug trying to cool the piping hot water down a bit. She leaned her elbows on the counter, holding the mug so that the steam cloud curled around her face. "What do you remember of your mother?" she asked.

If Killian felt uncomfortable with her line of questioning, it was more because there were so many things he didn't know and couldn't remember about the woman who bore him than any sense of intrusiveness on Mary Margaret's part. He felt like his mum deserved better than a son who forgot what it was like to be loved in favor of wishing death and destruction upon those who wronged him. He realized he should add her to the list of people he'd likely disappointed with the unexpected turn of events of his life. He was sure Liam would be grateful for the company.

He leaned back and widened his eyes as he blew out a breath through his lips. "Well, I remember my father missed her terribly after she passed…" he started, trying to buy himself some time to access that part of his brain that held her image, her voice, the feel of her touch. Searching for those pieces of her was like rummaging around a big, mostly empty attic, where a few relics were laying about, but mostly the space was overtaken with cobwebs and dust.

He took a sip of the scalding tea before continuing. "I don't recollect having any harsh feelings toward her, so I'm going to say she was a kind woman," he continued, picking through his thoughts. He offered the only mental image of her he was sure of. "I have some memories of playing on the shore and bringing her shells and pebbles. 'Treasures' she called them," he said, chuckling at the irony.

Mary Margaret laughed, too. "She sounds lovely. What was her name?"

"Cordelia," he answered. It was the one thing he hadn't forgotten, ever. His father spoke of "my Cordelia" often while they were going from port town to port town hoping to find the right ship to carry them throughout the realms. When Killian and Liam served on the Jewel of the Realm, they both had a bit of a chuckle imitating their father's manner as he waxed poetic about their mother, his Cordelia, "the jewel of the sea." Looking back, it seemed that he was tying himself to his mother all along, the little treasures he gave her, the ship he and Liam lived on, even his piracy to a certain extent. Maybe she'd been there with him all along and he was too blind to notice.

"And what about your mother, milady? I'm going to guess at the very least, your memories of her are closer to the surface than my own."

She was mid-sip when he asked the question, so as she lowered her mug to the counter, she smiled wistfully. "I still miss her every day. No matter her past with Cora, she was the most important person in my life, my biggest influence. She was the reason I wanted to become a mother and she was a wonderful example of how to be a kind and loving ruler. I don't think I've measured up so far though," she said, staring down at her mug, a look of concern etched across her rounded face.

"Don't sell yourself short, Highness," Killian assured her. "You seem to be doing well with the lad," he offered.

"Hmmm, well, it's a bit early to judge," she returned.

Killian was about to comment on Snow's efforts with Emma when she and David strode through the door, laughing.

"Sssshhhh!" Mary Margaret warned them. "Killian just got Neal back to sleep."

Emma glanced at Killian with a suspicious look. "What did you do, regale him with tales of your swashbuckling until he got bored and fell asleep again?"

David cut in, "Or did you try the rum on his gums trick? Of course my mother said she used brandy, but, well," he gestured at Killian, "pirate."

Killian crossed his arms, affronted, while Snow shot David a glare and tsked. David shared a confused look with Emma at the new dynamic in the room. Killian gave a quick nod of thanks in Snow's direction and harrumphed.

"Neither, thank you very much," he said, surprised at how irked he felt at David and Emma's lack of confidence in his abilities to help a baby sleep. As he looked at the dark circles under David's eyes, he smirked to himself, knowing one of them would be sleeping well tonight and it probably wasn't going to be David.

Emma walked over to Killian and put her hands on his shoulders, giving them a squeeze. "Come on, baby whisperer," she needled. "Let's go home before I get a call the fairies have started a rumble with some gnomes."

"You wouldn't find them. The gnomes would just go back underground never to be seen," he shot back.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Let's leave my parents to their anniversary."

David walked Emma to the door, going over what needed to be done the next morning at the station as a follow up to the evening's arrests, as Killian thanked Snow for the tea. She touched his arm and asked quietly so her daughter and husband wouldn't hear, "You'll teach me that song sometime? So I can sing it to Neal?"

The idea of singing for Mary Margaret all but terrified Killian, but he could see she was sincere in her request. He bowed and said, "Of course, milady. It would be my pleasure."

She laughed at his formality, and shook her head. "You can call me 'Snow,' Killian."

"Very well...Snow. I'd be happy to teach you my mother's song."

"Thank you," she smiled with a satisfied nod.

As the door to the loft shut behind them, Emma observed, "You and my mother certainly seemed to hit it off while David and I were out."

"Aye. She makes a good cup of tea."

"Okaay…" Emma chuckled, shaking her head at his obtuseness.

They were getting into her car when Killian glanced at the windows of her parents' loft. Mary Margaret was standing there watching them leave. He tipped his head to her and she waved back, smiling.

As he softly hummed the lullaby to himself on the way back to his and Emma's place, he thought perhaps his mother would forgive him his mistakes after all.

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><p><strong>The lullaby Killian sings is the "Connemara Cradle Song" (an Irish lullaby). If you want to hear it, Google is your friend. There are several versions of it on You Tube as well. <strong>


End file.
